Tea Pots and Palace Rumors

Seraphine’s eyes narrowed at Malik’s words, the sting of his insinuation sparking a fury she didn’t bother to mask. She stepped closer, her presence radiating tension like a drawn bowstring. Before she gave herself time to second-guess it, her hand flew towards him in a slap, the motion sharp and decisive. Whether it connected or not, the intent was clear: she would not be spoken to like that, not by him or anyone.

To live a little? she repeated, her voice cutting like shards of ice. Interesting coming from someone who, along with the Chancellor, has made sure I’ve had little agency over my own life. Don’t you think?

Her chest rose and fell as she took a steadying breath, glaring up at him. First you threaten, and now you try flattery? Let me guess, next you’ll offer me some grand favor I never asked for, all while making it impossible to say no. Her lips curled into a bitter smile. You’re predictable in your manipulation, but at least you’re consistent.

She turned away, her shoulders stiff with indignation, her words now colder than the air between them. It’s difficult to accept anything you say when you continue to prove you’re unwilling to give even a slight inch — to consider, even for a moment, the feelings of those you’ve harmed.

Her voice softened, but only in volume, not in tone. You’ve already decided how this will play out, haven’t you? So why bother asking?

She stopped just before leaving, her back still to him, her voice clipped and final. Can I leave now? I have to pack.

Without waiting for a response, she began to walk away, her footsteps firm and deliberate, a testament to the storm brewing inside her.

@Malik Vrai